


Mum's the Word

by Lady_Saddlebred



Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [14]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:38:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2904551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Saddlebred/pseuds/Lady_Saddlebred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A surprise visitor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mum's the Word

Title:                Mum's the Word

 

Authors:          Lady_Saddlebred ([cdelapin@yahoo.com](mailto:cdelapin@yahoo.com))

 

Archive:          Yes, please Category:        Qui/Obi, Alternate Reality, Romance, Angst

 

Rating:            PG

Series:              Lessons They Never Taught Me (archived)

 

 

DISCLAIMER:  George Lucas owned everything, until he sold it to Disney. We own nothing, just building castles in the sand.

 

 

Special thanks to Katbear and Merry Amelie, _notre betas par excellence!_

Feedback:  please feed the hungry bunnies

 

 

Previous fics in series: all on AO3 website:  
Early Admission  
Lessons They Never Taught Me in School  
Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus  
That Which Does Not Go to School  
Rainy Day Recess   
Of Popcorn and Pine Trees  
Fit to Print  
Daffodils  
Spring Cotillion  
Is That a Lightsaber I See Before Me  
A Pen for Your Thoughts  
When I Was Your Age  
Partners

 

 

Summary:  a surprise visitor

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

Ben cursed, loudly and volubly.  Had he thought the wiring in the buildings on campus was bad?  By comparison, the brownstone’s was practically antediluvian.  Quinn would have been perfectly content to leave everything “ _as is,”_ whether from his innate love of history or his utter distrust for anything “ _technological_.”  Ben shook his head.  He supposed that was what he was here for, to -- how had Quinn put it – “ _drag poor, benighted Professor Donovan into the twenty-first century, kicking and screaming._ ”  With a sigh, he bent to his work again.

 

Fortunately, Quinn had a full schedule today, which was precisely why Ben was here working in the study.  Quinn had a worrisome tendency to hover, convinced his precious antiques or some purportedly one-of-a-kind art book would be irrevocably harmed if he wasn’t there to fend off an errant screwdriver.  Not to mention his penchant for “ _distracting_ ” Ben with seemingly random caresses or kisses, that all too easily could morph into a loss of hours of work. 

 

No matter that this was not official Academy business.  He’d have done the work for free, but Quinn had insisted on drawing up a written agreement between them, designating Ben as a “ _technical consultant_ ,” with a proposed fee schedule that had made Ben’s head spin.  The unstoppable force had met the immovable object, and both had come away a bit bruised, but satisfied. 

 

Ben privately suspected Quinn had deliberately goaded him with the contract, just for the pleasure of a debate.  The king-sized leprechaun had even threatened to withhold sex if Ben didn’t agree to his terms!  Naturally, a meeting of the minds had led to a similar meeting of bodies, if only to seal the deal.  And only the day before, Quinn had snuck in and pinned him against the partners’ desk in this very room, taking him with a hunger that had Ben’s nerve endings tingling just thinking about it. The man’s sexual appetite was exceeded only by his unswerving commitment to his partner’s gratification.  Consider it a perk, Quinn had quipped. 

 

Was that the door knocker?  Bernini’s ears pricked, then he rose with a low growl from the hallway, where he had been watching Ben’s progress with interest.  With a sigh, Ben stood and rubbed a kink in his thigh. Now who the hell would be coming to see Quinn at this hour of the day?  Damn it, he’d really wanted to finish up the wiring for the router today, and Quinn would have a conniption if the room wasn’t tidied up and back to normal.  Or at least as tidied up as it ever was when Quinn was around.

 

Sweaty and dusty, he sauntered down the hallway, as the knocker sounded again.  Persistent little bugger.  It’d better not be some vacuum cleaner salesman, or a cutesy little Girl Scout peddling cookies.  Too bad there wasn’t a peephole, or a side window, so he could see if it was someone best ignored until he or she gave up and went away.  With a sigh, Ben opened the big front door, prepared to tell off whoever had dared to interrupt his renovations. 

 

“Good afternoon,” said the smiling silver-haired lady (and this was most definitely a * ** _lady_** ,* to Ben’s way of thinking) standing on the front stoop.  She was neatly dressed in a tailored green linen suit and beige pumps, even a string of graduated pearls.  The voice was soft, refined, but with a peculiar lilt. “My name is Genevieve Donovan.  I believe I am expected?”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Dumbfounded, Ben stared, open-mouthed.  Genevieve Donovan?  As in * ** _Lady Genevieve Quinntrell*_** , aka Quinn’s * ** _mother*_**?  Scrambling for his manners, Ben stepped back and swung the door wide.  “I’m sorry, ma’am, won’t you please come in?” _What the hell?!?!_

 

“Thank you,” Mrs. Donovan answered, with not so much as a hint of surprise at his messy appearance. She stepped gracefully into the foyer and moved toward the living room, pausing in the entryway as Ben closed the door behind her.  “Oh, there is my handsome Bernini. Hello, lovie,” she murmured, bending to pet the big golden retriever.  “And may I have the pleasure?” she asked, turning and holding out a slim hand. 

 

“Um, sorry, ma’am,” Ben said again, hastily wiping his own hand on his jeans, suddenly painfully aware of his filthy clothing and sweat-streaked hair.  “I’m Ben Kensington.  Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Donovan.”  Her hand was warm, the skin like silk.  Clear blue eyes calmly took his measure, but revealed nothing of the thoughts behind them.

 

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kensington,” she replied, in an appealing mixture of clipped consonants and broad musical vowels. Ben recalled that Quinn’s mother had been raised in England, but had lived the majority of her adult life in Northern Ireland.  Her voice was oddly soothing and he found himself returning her friendly smile, even as he offered her the sofa.  She sat, ankles demurely crossed and posture ramrod-straight, unquestionably from years of training. Bernini sat at Ben’s feet, and he automatically leaned down to scratch behind his ears, still trying to gather his wits. 

 

“I take it my son is not in?” Mrs. Donovan asked, after a long vaguely uncomfortable moment.

 

“No, ma’am, I’m afraid he’s in class all day today. I don’t expect him back before six o’clock or so,” Ben answered, then mentally kicked himself.  How the hell did he explain what he was doing at the brownstone, when its owner was not?

 

“Yes, I rather thought as much,” she answered, outwardly unconcerned. “He does keep a rather full schedule, doesn’t he?”  She gazed interestedly around the room again, without further comment.

 

“Um, please excuse me, ma’am,” Ben said hesitantly, “but I wasn’t expecting anyone to come calling, and I’m afraid I’m-” He indicated his dirty jeans and t-shirt.  “Professor Donovan asked me to help him with upgrading his computer equipment here at the house.”  He motioned in the general direction of the study.

 

“How extraordinary.  I wasn’t sure he even knew computers existed, except possibly in his laboratory.”  She smiled conspiratorially, and Ben couldn’t help but respond in kind, disarmed by her affectionate teasing of her son behind his back.  “You’re surely to be congratulated.”

 

“Well, it was touch-and-go there for a while.  But I’m sure this will make his job easier going forward.  Technology’s really progressed a lot in the last few years, and-” He stopped, realizing he was practically babbling in his nervous effort to hide the truth from this poised, perceptive woman. “I, um, I should probably, uh…” 

 

“Yes, of course,” his guest said, with another gracious smile.  “Please don’t let me keep you.” She paused, then added delicately, “Though I would welcome your company, if you were perhaps so inclined.”   

 

Ben hesitated.  Everything in him screamed to make any excuse and run like hell from this discerning woman who had given birth to his lover.  But that would leave her here alone, in Quinn’s house, and somehow that was even * ** _more_** * wrong.  He had a perfectly justifiable reason for being there; one look at the mess in the study would prove remodeling was underway. 

 

A voice in the back of his head counseled the best defense was a good offense.  If he could just keep her occupied until Quinn got home, then she’d be a lot less likely to go wandering about the house and possibly figure out that her son was no longer a reclusive solitary bachelor.  But Quinn would skin him alive if he sat on any of the furniture in his sweaty, dirty clothes. 

 

Mrs. Donovan was watching him, a well-mannered smile on her face.  She’d asked for his company, and after all, there were very few people with whom he could even discuss Quinn. Moreover, there was an air of calm authority about her that was very persuasive.  He * ** _wanted_** * to sit and talk with her, even at the expense of the wiring going unfinished.  But he also needed to protect the sanctity of the brownstone, of his and Quinn’s privacy.  The two sides warred within him, then inspiration struck.  

 

“I, um, I actually brought a change of clothes with me.  Under the circumstances, I guess Professor Donovan wouldn’t mind if I used his guest bathroom.  If you could give me a few minutes?”  Once safely upstairs, he could call Quinn from his cell and figure out what to do next. 

 

“Take your time, Mr. Kensington.  I shall wait for you here.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben hurriedly showered, shaved and changed clothes in the master suite, raking a comb through his unruly auburn hair.  Quinn’s * ** _mother_** * was downstairs at this very moment, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to just drop in unannounced to visit her son in the States. He dialed Quinn’s office, but got the voice mail.  Damn it, why wouldn’t the man carry a fucking * ** _cell_** * phone! Looked like it was up to him and Bernie to hold down the fort.  So much for finishing the router this afternoon. 

 

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and headed back downstairs.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Mrs. Donovan looked up with a faint smile as Ben returned to the living room.  “Perhaps we might have a spot of tea while we wait for my delinquent son to make his appearance,” she suggested, suiting action to words as she rose and made her way familiarly down the hall to the kitchen.

 

Ben followed, automatically reaching into the cabinets for cups and saucers, spoons from the cutlery drawer, and handing down Quinn’s antique cherry tea caddy from its place of honor above the stove.  Retrieving a couple of linen napkins from the dining room buffet, he paused at the bemused smile on the woman’s face.  “Is- is anything wrong, ma’am?” he asked uncertainly.

 

Mrs. Donovan shook her head. “I couldn’t help noticing how conversant you seem with the way things are arranged. You’ve clearly taken tea with my son before.”  The smile deepened, showing a charming dimple, even as Ben flushed at the implication behind her words.  She moved to fill the kettle with water, tactfully turning away to give Ben a moment to compose himself. 

 

“Well, um, actually, yes, ma’am, I have had tea with Professor Donovan once or twice.  He- he drinks a lot of tea,” Ben mumbled, berating himself for his carelessness.

 

“He does,” agreed Quinn’s mother, placing the kettle on the stove.  “It’s something the Irish and the English have in common.  Do you think you might scare us up a teapot?”  She examined the caddy’s contents.  “Which would you prefer?” she asked politely.

 

“Um, Earl Grey, please,” Ben replied, naming the first blend that came to mind.  He made a show of searching for the elusive teapot, hoping it was sufficiently convincing.

 

Mrs. Donovan nodded.  “That was always my husband's preference as well, God rest his soul,” she mused, adding the bags to the teapot, which she first carefully rinsed with hot water from the tap.  “Do you take milk or lemon?” she asked, turning to the refrigerator.

 

“Lemon, please,” Ben answered, trying not to fidget. 

 

She gave him an approving smile. “Very good, young man.  A proper English tea we’ll be having, will we not?”  The kettle began to whistle, and she poured hot water into the teapot.  “Do you think Quinn might be civilized enough to have some biscuits?”  The blue eyes twinkled, and again Ben was struck by the similarity between mother and son.  He loved Quinn’s eyes.

 

“Oh, yes, ma’am, I’m sure we can find something,” he assured her.  He searched the cabinets before conveniently “ _finding_ ” the imported tea biscuits Quinn kept for special company.  He could feel the blue eyes boring into him from behind. 

 

Ben carried the elegantly arranged tea tray into the living room.  He couldn’t help but admire Mrs. Donovan’s spare yet graceful movements, the delicate manner in which she held a “ _biscuit_ ” in her fingers, always one hand in her lap, using the other to raise her cup or a cookie to her lips.  It reminded him of his first visit to Adele’s home months back, when they had shared sherry and confidences over his growing attachment to her “ _fiancé._ ”  The two women might have attended the same finishing school somewhere in Switzerland.

 

Despite her outwardly casual behavior, Ben was sure their guest was cataloguing every nook and cranny in the room.  He held his breath when she paused over the new bookcase stereo next to Quinn’s big leather chair, but she made no comment.  Trying to see the room through her eyes, he was reasonably sure there was nothing out of place, no incriminating evidence of his increasing presence there.  Ooops, unless you counted the banished oversized floor speakers that had previously “ _graced_ ” the four corners of the room. The ceiling-mounted cubes not only provided superior sound quality, but also allowed the blue-and-white ceramic urns to be appreciated for themselves, rather than as mere clumsy camouflage. Thankfully, if she did notice, she didn’t comment.

 

“So tell me, Mr. Kensington, do you work at the Academy?” Mrs. Donovan asked politely.  “Are you also an instructor?”

 

“No, ma'am,” Ben replied.  “I’m the IT specialist.  I do the computer repairs, wiring, electrical, that sort of thing.  Then Professor Donovan asked me to help him with upgrading his home office.”

 

“Quite so,” she said, smiling enigmatically and raising her cup for another sip of tea.  “But thank you for coming to his aid.  He can be rather dogmatic at times, much like his father, God rest his soul.”

 

“He mentioned Mr. Donovan passed away a few years ago,” Ben sympathized.  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

 

“Thank you,” she said softly.  “He was a dear man, and tremendously proud of his son’s accomplishments.  Quinn is very like him.”  She sipped again. “I think my Joseph would have liked you very much.”  The words hung in the air for a long moment. 

 

Ben cleared his throat, trying to discern any clues from the seeming _non sequitur._   She gave him another measuring look over her teacup, then smiled and extended the plate of cookies.  Ben reflexively took one and set it down on his saucer.  “Professor Donovan’s told me a bit about his growing up in County Antrim,” he managed finally, casting about for a topic of conversation.  “I believe he has two sisters who still live there?”

 

“Yes, that’s right,” Quinn’s mother confirmed.  “And several nieces and nephews as well.”  She reached into her purse and drew out a small photo album.  “I always try to bring updated photos with me.”  She gave a small regretful sigh.  “Quinn doesn’t come back to visit very often.  So the mountain must instead come to Mohammed, as they say.”

 

“I’m sure he misses everyone,” Ben said dutifully, glancing at the pictures in the album. “You have a lovely family, Mrs. Donovan.”

 

“Please, call me Jenny, and I’ll call you Ben, shall I?” she said, smiling warmly.  “Or do you prefer Benjamin?”

 

“No, Ben’s fine, thanks,” Ben replied quickly.  “When anyone calls me ‘ _Benjamin_ ,’ it usually means I’m in trouble for something.”

 

“I imagine so,” she agreed.  “When Quinn was a lad, he had a habit of wandering the countryside, looking for his odd plants and such.  He’d lose all track of time, and I’d have to call him in to supper.  Nothing short of ‘ _Quinntrell Joseph Michael Donovan, come in at once!_ ’ would produce the desired response.”  She gave an indulgent little laugh.  “You might remember that little trick, Ben, should you ever need him to come in a hurry.  I imagine it’s still engrained in his thick head.”

 

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Ben said, liking her more by the minute.  “Though I’d probably get fired if I was ever nervy enough to call a member of the faculty anything other than ‘ _Professor._ ’”

 

“Ah, then you’ll be needin’ to be savin’ it for the right time and place, to be sure.”  Ben was startled to hear her accent abruptly morph into something resembling Quinn’s erratic brogue.  A glance confirmed it had been deliberate, and they laughed together.  “Perhaps when he’s monopolizing the bathroom some morning,” Jenny added, sipping her tea.

 

Ben’s senses went on red alert.  “Ma’am?” he said warily.

 

She smiled complacently.  “He does tend to set up camp in the bathroom of a morning.  I should think it could be… inconvenient for an overnight guest.”

 

“I’m- I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Ben stammered.  The teacup on its saucer in his lap rattled noisily, and he carefully moved it to the end table. 

 

“Oh, I think you do, lad,” Jenny said quietly.  “After all, you are living with my son.” The tone was calm, matter of fact, with no hint of recrimination. 

 

Ben flushed uncomfortably but said nothing, studying his hands.

 

“Am I mistaken?” she asked courteously.  She might have been offering him more tea.  Ben gave a fatalistic sigh.

 

“No, ma’am,” he said quietly.  “Well, not completely, anyway.  I don’t actually * ** _live_** * here.” _Not officially, anyway._   He drew a deep breath and raised his head to face the inevitable, damning Quinn Donovan with every beat of his heart for putting him in such an untenable situation.  He was surprised to find the blue eyes smiling back at him.

 

“I thought as much,” she said kindly, setting her own cup and saucer on the coffee table.  “I hope he is treating you well?”

 

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Ben said honestly, still trying to read the swirling undercurrents in the room. Again, he was reminded of the conversation with Adele after his first night at the brownstone. He’d been pretty blown away that day, too. “You’ve raised a fine son.”

 

“Thank you, Ben.  While I have no wish to pry into your private lives, you can appreciate a mother’s interest.  I take it this is something of a sensitive subject, not yet publicly declared.” It wasn’t a question.

 

An understatement.  Ben irrationally found himself wanting to tell her everything, to unburden his heart to this woman he’d only just met.  “No, ma’am, we’ve had to be very circumspect.  And it’s not been easy for either of us.  Quinn is a wonderful man; I’ve never known anyone like him. He’s brilliant, and compassionate, and handsome, and-” He stopped himself barely in time from gushing like a schoolgirl with a first crush.

 

Jenny’s face lit up at the praise for her first-born.  “He is all those things, yes, and more.  And it’s heartening to know he has found someone to love him as he deserves.  His father and I feared he might end up a lonely, bitter bachelor.”

 

“Oh no, he’s anything but, ma’am- I mean, Jenny.  He has lots of friends and colleagues, and his work, and- and-”

 

“And you,” she said softly, and he blushed again, but raised his chin to look her in the eye.

 

“* ** _And_** * me, yes, ma’am,” he said firmly.  “For as long as he’ll have me.”

 

“Good,” she said, pouring more tea for them both. “So, tell me about yourself.  He hasn’t said a bloody word to his dear old mum, and won’t I just be takin’ him to task for it when he finally shows his bewhiskered face,” she said, with another calculated lapse into the Irish manner of speaking. The vibrant blue eyes, so like those of her son, twinkled in conspiratorial merriment, and Ben couldn’t help laughing again.  Bernini barked in happy counterpoint, and Jenny slipped him a “ _biscuit_.”

 

They chatted companionably, and Ben found himself utterly enthralled by the gracious woman who plainly loved her son unconditionally.  He forgot about finishing up the router in favor of hearing more about his lover’s childhood from a mother more than willing to share. 

 

In the middle of a particularly amusing anecdote, the garage door opened.  “Ben?” came a familiar deep voice from the hallway.  Bernini rose and trotted to the foyer. The co-conspirators grinned at each other. 

 

“In here,” Ben called.

 

“I picked up some of that ice cream you liked, and-” Quinn stopped short in the entryway, staring at his mother seated next to his lover. “* ** _MUM?_** *”

 

Jenny rose and calmly approached her dumbstruck firstborn.  “Greetings, my wayward son.” She tiptoed to kiss his cheek as he automatically bent to hug her, staring over her shoulder at Ben with a _what-the-hell_ look.  Ben shrugged and picked up his teacup.

 

“It’s wonderful to see you, Mum, but I thought you weren’t due until next week,” Quinn stammered, face as white as his shirt.

 

Jenny laughed indulgently.  “Some things never change, m’lad,” she said, giving him a squeeze. She turned back to Ben.  “Perhaps you can find a way to hardwire a calendar into his brain.  Lord knows, his father and I tried everything we could think of when he was growing up.”

 

Ben shook his head.  “I’m afraid he’s too set in his ways, Jenny.  Next time maybe you should let * ** _me_** * know when you’re coming, so I can remind him.  I’ll be sure to give you my phone numbers and email address.”

 

Quinn’s mouth opened, but no words came out as he looked from mother to lover and back again.  Jenny waved him to his easy chair, then headed to the kitchen.  Quinn moved mechanically to comply, still stunned into silence.  Ben sat quietly on the sofa, content to watch the little family drama play out.  He knew there’d be lots of questions later, but for now it was fun watching his typically in-control alpha male flounder. 

 

Jenny returned with another cup and saucer and expertly prepared a cup of tea for her son.  He took it without comment and reflexively set it on the side table, then sat back in his chair.  She rejoined Ben on the sofa and Bernini lay down at Quinn’s feet, as if to offer moral support.

 

“Mum, did you, um, change your travel plans?” Quinn finally asked, voice a bit shaky, but beginning to regain his composure.

 

“No, darling,” Jenny said patiently. “I told you I was arriving today, at two-twenty-five p.m., the same Aer Lingus flight as always.  You even read it back to me on the phone.”  She turned to Ben.  “Let me guess: he either * ** _didn’t_** * write it down, or he threw it away.”  Ben grinned, but said nothing.  “So when you didn’t show up at the airport, * ** _as per usual_** ,* I simply caught a taxi here.” 

 

“Ah, yes, well, sorry about that, Mum, truly.  I * ** _did_** * write it down, but I must have gotten the week wrong or something.  But why didn’t you just call from the airport?  I’d have come and gotten you.”

 

“I * ** _did_** * call, dear,” his mother said, “but it went into your voice mail.  I assumed you were in class, or in the laboratory, so I just took matters into my own hands.  I didn’t bother calling the house.”  There was no hint of reproach in the musically accented voice, only a long-suffering parent of a much-loved, habitually absent-minded child. 

 

“’M sorry, Mum,” Quinn muttered again, cradling the teacup in his big hands.  “But you’re here now, and that’s what matters.  Where’s your luggage?”

 

“At the hotel, naturally.  I went there first.” 

 

“Oh, right, of course you did.”  Quinn sighed and leaned back in his chair.  “You’re at the Melbourne, as usual?”

 

“That’s right.  And where will you be taking us for dinner tonight, my love?”

 

Ben blinked.  “Us?”

 

Jenny smiled.  “Of course, Ben. You shall be my date for the evening, and Adele will be Quinn’s.  Italian, I think.  Make the reservations, please, dear.”

 

 _The Queen Mother issuing implacable commands_ , thought Ben.  No wonder Quinn practically snapped to attention when Adele spoke.  The two women were intriguingly alike in personality, including an unrepentant sense of fun at Quinn’s expense.  The poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

 

“Yes, Mum,” Quinn was saying obediently.  “Did you want to go back to the hotel and change first, or will we be going straight from here?”

 

“I’ll ring up Adele and we’ll discuss it while you freshen up.  Coats and ties, please, gentlemen,” she added, reaching for the phone on the end table and dialing.  “Adele? _Bonjour, cherie, c’est Jenny Donovan, comment_ _ça_ _va?_   She continued in French too rapid for either man to comprehend, and Quinn beckoned to Ben to follow him out of the room.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn shut the door of the master bedroom suite behind them.  “What the hell just happened?” he demanded, raking his fingers distractedly through his thick hair.

 

“Gee, nice of you to let me know your * ** _mother_** * was coming to town, Quinn!” Ben retorted.  “I was working in the study, up to my elbows in wires and solder.  There’s a knock at the door, and there she is!  Marches in like she owns the place, makes herself right at home!  You think you could have given me a * ** _tiny_** * fucking bit of warning?”

 

“I thought she was coming over * ** _next_** * week, damn it!  I must have written it down wrong on my calendar!”  Quinn sighed.  “Shite, Ben, I’m sorry.  You’re right, I * ** _should_** * have told you.  I never stopped to think about the two of you actually coming face to face.”  He headed toward the bathroom. “Well, it’s too late now.  You’ll be joining us for dinner?”

 

“I guess so,” Ben said uncertainly, sitting down on the bed.  “She kind of made it sound like a command performance.  You, me, Adele and your mother.”  He shrugged.  “Makes sense.”

 

“Aye, I suppose it does at that,” Quinn said absently, as he returned to the bedroom.  “Is your new sports jacket here?  Tie, tie…”  He poked his head into the closet, muttering to himself. Then he stiffened and turned. “Ben,” he said slowly, “what do you think she…”

 

Ben gave him a humorless smile.  Revenge was sweet.  “Oh, she * ** _knows_** ,* Quinn.  She figured it out, all on her own.  Tons of brainpower in the Donovan family.”

 

Quinn paled. “Glory be to God.”  He reflexively crossed himself, eyes closed as he sagged against the closet.  “How- how did she take it?” he asked faintly.

 

“Pretty well, all things considered,” Ben said thoughtfully. “I mean, she didn’t come right out and ask if we were * ** _sleeping_** * together, but she definitely knew we were in a relationship. And… she didn’t seem to mind.  But you’d know better than me what she thinks about… things.”

 

“Aye.”  Quinn nodded pensively.  “She’s nae the type to judge, especially when it comes to affairs o’ the heart.  But I had hoped to ease her into the whole thing a bit more gently, y’ken?  Ah well, ‘tis done now, and we’ll just have to live with it.”  He approached the bed and laid his hands on Ben’s shoulders.  “Are * ** _you_** * all right?” he asked gently, crouching down so they were at eye level.

 

“I’m fine,” Ben assured him, with a forgiving kiss.  “Jenny’s terrific.  She even said your father would have liked me.  I took that as a real compliment.”

 

Quinn smiled.  “Did she, now?  Well, Da was a great judge of character; he could size up a man in about three seconds flat, good or bad.  If she thinks he’d have accepted you, then you’re in tight with her.”  He stood, wincing slightly as his bad knee apparently gave him a twinge, and moved back to the closet. Ben slipped into a sports jacket and slacks and borrowed a tie.  Quinn changed his shirt and donned his Harris Tweed blazer. 

 

They found Jenny washing up the tea things and putting the kitchen to rights.  She gave them both an approving smile as they entered.  Ben was amused when Quinn automatically held out both hands, palms down, to confirm clean fingernails and a lack of telltale lab stains.  Apparently old habits died hard.

 

“Such fine-looking men,” she said, with a kiss to her tall son’s cheek and a warm smile for Ben.  “Adele and I will be the envy of the entire restaurant.  We’re to call for her at seven, please, dear.  Reservations are for seven-thirty.” 

 

“Yes, Mum,” Quinn said, with a wink at Ben.  “Never keep a lady waiting, Ben. She’ll always remember it, and she’ll make sure you never forget it, either.”  Ben grinned.

 

“You should take a leaf from your own book, Quinntrell Donovan,” his mother reproved him. “You left your own * ** _mother_** * at the airport.” 

 

“Ah, forgive me, oh dearest, most beautiful and benevolent mother in the universe,” Quinn implored, with his best “ _little boy_ ” look, and Ben was reminded of similar instances when Adele had taken him to task over some real or imagined wrongdoing.  His mother laughed helplessly and he swept her up in his arms, twirling her around until she cried out to be put down at once.

 

“You’re naught but an overgrown child, Quinn Donovan, and you’ll never change,” she chided, love shining in her eyes. “Ben, you’ll have your hands full with him, and no mistake.  Are you sure you can handle him?  You’d likely be the first.”

 

“I’m giving it my best shot, Jenny,” Ben chuckled.  “He does have the odd moment of maturity, about once a month or so.  Shall I write them down on the calendar for you, so you can check up on him?”

 

“Out upon you both,” Quinn mock-roared. “Am I to be belittled and beleaguered in me own home now?”  He grabbed his car keys.  “If I’m to feed the lot of you, at least show me some small measure of respect,” he complained, herding them toward the garage.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Jenny and Adele chatted over dinner, happily catching each other up.  They were obviously long-time friends.  Quinn seemed unusually reticent, though he did manage polite conversation.  Ben wondered what his lover was thinking.  He ached to be able to reach out and touch, for even a modicum of reassurance.

 

As if reading his mind, Quinn glanced across the table and gave him a smile, perhaps a bit lacking in its usual warmth, but more than just a social nod.  When Ben tentatively responded in kind, he added an eye roll and a nod in the direction of their companions, as if to say, “ _Women_. _Go figure_.”  Unfortunately, Jenny noticed and scolded his lack of manners.  Adele hid a smile behind her wine glass, eyes glimmering with amusement at the chagrin on her friend’s face. Under the table, she patted Ben’s leg in a silent show of support.  Ben squeezed her hand in grateful acknowledgment. Maybe she and Jenny were cosmic twins.  The thought made him smile.

 

Quinn took them for a drive after dinner, then dropped Jenny off at her hotel.  She and Adele had plans to go shopping the next day.  Quinn escorted his “ _jolie_ ” to her door, where they spoke quietly for a few minutes.  Ben moved to the front seat and they drove away, a Bach concerto on the CD player doing little to drown out the deafening silence.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben wasn’t sure whether to stay or go when they reached the brownstone.  He badly wanted to talk about the “ _elephant in the room_ ,” but found himself hesitating to bring the subject up first. While Quinn had seemed resigned to the idea of their having been inadvertently “ _outed_ ” to his mother by the time dinner ended, his initial reaction had been somewhat less than comforting. 

 

Quinn climbed out of the Jaguar’s right-hand driver’s side and headed for the door.  Realizing Ben was not behind him, he turned.  “You’re not coming in?” he asked casually.  “Gets chilly out here once that engine cools off.” 

 

Ben nodded and silently followed Quinn into the living room.  Apparently he was expected to stay, at least for the time being, so he hung his jacket in the closet, then stirred up the banked fire.  Quinn produced the decanter of brandy and two snifters from the breakfront.  Ben was reminded of their first night together, and hoped it augured well for the rest of the evening.

 

Pouring a healthy dollop into each glass, Quinn settled next to Ben on the sofa.  A good sign, to Ben’s thinking, feeling Quinn’s hand absently stroke his hair.  He set his glass on the end table and closed his eyes, relaxing into the loose embrace. 

 

“So, lad,” Quinn said, after a few minutes’ comfortable silence, “what’d ye think of me mum?”

 

“She’s wonderful,” Ben replied sincerely.  “I loved her accent – English and Irish, all kind of rolled up together. And she hardly looks her age.  Must be all that humidity in the Irish climate, huh?  Great for the complexion.”

 

Quinn nodded.  “She never really lost the whole upper class English articulation, though it’s mellowed a bit from living in Ballymena all these years.  She was tutored for most of her schooling, and speaks several languages fluently, French being her best.  She and Adele can go on for hours, and I have no idea what they’re saying. Probably just as well.”  He gave a rueful chuckle. “I seem to be their favorite topic of conversation whenever she comes to visit.”

 

Ben seized the opening.  “Yeah, well, they had a new topic tonight.  Us.”  He paused. “I’m sorry I let the cat out of the bag, Quinn.  But she seemed pretty okay with the whole idea, didn’t she?”

 

“Aye, she’s nae one to harp on anyone’s choices in life.  She made some hard ones of her own growin’ up, and never looked back.”  Quinn sipped his brandy.  “I ken she liked ye, though, and tha’s the important thing.  If she hadna, I’d hae known right off.  There’s none like the English for lettin’ their opinions be known without sayin’ a single word.” 

 

Ben was struck, as always, by the spontaneous brogue in his Irish-born lover’s voice.  It tended to show itself in moments of great emotion:  anger, sadness, passion, joy.  He obviously held his mother in the highest regard, and could not forgive his grandfather, even in death, for his cruel treatment of her all those years ago.  Ben suppressed a shiver – he never wanted to find himself on Quinn Donovan’s bad side, even for a moment.  The man’s temper had an infamously short fuse, and he would defend those he loved to the death.  Ben’s hand shook as he picked up his glass, jostling the deep amber liquid inside.  Quinn smoothly took it from him, then cupped his chin in his hand, turning his face toward him in the firelight.

 

“Ben, love, ye did nothin’ wrong, to be sure.  She wasna lookin’ to trap ye.  She’s a lovin’ mother who sees all, but tells only what she’s entrusted to by her children.  Believe me, ye’re not in any trouble, certainly not with me.  Do ye ken?”  He spoke gently, but his gaze forced Ben to listen.  “It’s me own fault for not warnin’ ye she was comin’ in.  I wrote it down wrong on the calendar, and forgot to tell ye about it even then.  Ye’ve no blame here, and there’s none being cast.  I need ye to understand that, Ben.  Ye’re * ** _nae_** * responsible for anythin’ that’s happened.”

 

Ben nodded slowly, then brought the big hand to his lips in silent apology.  Quinn’s eyelids drooped in pleasure as Ben nuzzled, then laved each fingertip with his tongue, alternating with gentle kisses to the palm.  Quinn’s hands were one of his most intense erogenous zones.  Ben could almost hear him purring, a big mountain lion luxuriating in the sun, and it delighted him to be the source of such simple pleasure.  The man gave so much of himself to others, with no thought of return.  While Ben couldn’t begin to match his largesse, he could give himself, * ** _all_** * of himself, to this man who held his heart. 

 

The arm along the back of the sofa dropped to his shoulder, a familiar invitation to cuddle.  He reached for his glass and softly clinked it against Quinn’s, enjoying the melodic tone of the delicate Waterford crystal.  He was learning to appreciate the finer things being in a relationship with Quinn offered: aged brandy, silk dressing gowns, soft Ulster linen sheets.  He studied the craggy features in the firelight, the wavy chestnut-and-silver hair and the cerulean-blue eyes behind surprisingly long lashes.  So many attractive features, adding up to one totally amazing man. 

 

Ben lay his head against the broad chest and closed his eyes, listening to the soothing heartbeat. Quinn crooned softly in his ear, a tune Ben couldn’t quite place, but which drew him down into a hazy somnolence.  The snifter was gently taken from his hand, then he was tucked into a strong embrace.  Cherished.  Protected.  Loved.  There was no need for words; even the gentle foreplay moments before seemed overkill in that moment.  It was enough to just lay back in Quinn’s arms, listening to the crackle of the fire and Bernini’s soft snores.  The world shrank down to just that room and Ben felt himself drifting away…

 

~*~*~*~

 

He awoke to the soft chiming of the lantern clock on the mantel. Four a.m.  The fire had gone out, and the room had grown chilly.  Quinn’s head was tilted back, mouth slightly open, one arm still holding Ben close while the other lay quiescent in his lap.  Ben hated to wake him, but he’d be sore come morning otherwise.  He carefully sat up and stroked the bearded cheek. “Quinn? Wake up, love.  Let’s go to bed, okay?  I’m cold.”

 

Quinn stirred, eyes cracking open as he raised his head.  “Hmph?” he muttered, and Ben smiled sympathetically.  His mountain lion was slow to rouse from slumber at the best of times. 

 

“Come on, let’s go upstairs.”  Ben stood and reached for the hand that groped to find him in the near darkness. 

 

Quinn rubbed his eyes, then grunted in Ben’s general direction, sleepily amenable.  He staggered slightly as he stood up, his bad knee unhappy with the sudden change of position, and Ben leaned in to steady him.  Quinn’s arm tightened reflexively around him, then they moved as one to the staircase. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn awoke to the smell of freshly brewed tea and breakfast cooking downstairs.  Not all that unusual, except that Ben was still sound asleep beside him.  Puzzled, he rose and drew on a running suit and went downstairs.

 

“Good morning, darling,” said Jenny brightly, stirring a pan on the stove.  “I let myself in.  Still on Erin time, I suppose.  How does Ben like his eggs?”

 

Quinn grinned around a yawn and kissed his mother’s cheek.  “Mornin’, Mum.  I should have known it was you when I smelled the tea a-brewing.  You never could just sit back and let others do for you, even after we were all grown up.” 

 

Jenny smiled and picked up her cup.  “Surely you don’t begrudge me fixing you breakfast once in a while?  I don’t get to see you that often, and a mother’s conscience pricks her if she thinks her children aren’t well fed.”

 

Quinn spread his arms wide.  “Do I look like I’m missing meals, Mum?  I * ** _hae_** * learned to cook, y’know.  And I’m hardly livin’ in the boonies.”  He gestured to a magnet on the refrigerator that read, “ _The best thing to make for dinner is reservations_.”  A gag gift from Ben.

 

“Yes, dear,” his mother said placidly, stirring the eggs with a spatula, even as she turned bacon in the other pan.  “Is Ben up?”

 

Quinn shook his head.  “He’s nae much of a morning person.  Too used to bein’ on call round the clock at work.  He’ll be down straightaway, though, once he smells that bacon.”  His mind reeled at the thought of his mother matter-of-factly asking if his * ** _male lover_** * would be joining them for breakfast, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. And she’d only just found out about them the day before!  He swallowed his paranoia to outwardly meet her calm with his own.  They had too few allies as it was.  “Weren’t you and Adele goin’ shoppin’ today?”

 

“Yes, sweetheart,” Jenny said patiently, “but I woke up early, so I came over to make sure my lads got a decent breakfast.”

 

“Cheers, Mum.  You’re too good to us.”  Quinn grinned and poured himself a mug of tea.

 

“I wanted to talk to you about Molly’s wedding, anyway.  She’s planned it around your summer vacation, so you’d not have an excuse not to come.”

 

“I’ll be there, never mind,” Quinn agreed absently, opening the refrigerator and pulling out the orange juice.

 

“And Ben?” she reminded him.

 

Quinn turned, eyebrows quizzically raised.  “Beg pardon?”

 

“* ** _And_** * Ben,” she repeated.  “He’ll be your ‘ _plus one_ ,’ of course.” 

 

“Mum-”

 

“Now, listen to me, Quinntrell Donovan, you are absolutely * ** _not_** * coming alone.  Ben is an important part of your life, and the family deserves to meet him.  What better occasion than a wedding?”

 

“I dinna ken-” Quinn began, but she cut him off.

 

“You ‘ _ken_ ’ all too well, my beloved son.  Don’t try and play the ignorant mick with me.  The clan will want to meet Ben, and he them.  It’s only right.”

 

“Mum, it’s the lass’s * ** _wedding_** * day.  I’d not ruin it for her with a dust-up over bringing a * ** _fella_** * as a date,” Quinn said defensively, sheltering behind his mug against his mother’s stern blue eyes.  He felt all of six years old again, caught sneaking cookies before supper.

 

“So call your sisters ahead of time, tell them about Ben and that you’ll be stopping over with him for the wedding.  Molly will be that thrilled you’re coming, the rest will cause barely a stir. After all, it’s no secret that you shy away from any feminine entanglements on principle. Gwen and Reyna worry you’ll end up a lonely old bachelor.  Just knowing you’ve found someone will be enough for them, but they’ll want to ‘ _pass judgment,_ ’ all the same.”  Jenny smiled reassuringly and poured more tea for them both.  Somehow it did little to settle the butterflies fluttering madly in Quinn’s stomach.  The smell of the eggs was suddenly making him queasy.

 

“Mum, you need to understand,” he said carefully.  “We’ve not disclosed our relationship.  Well, except to Adele, of course; she brought us together, God love her.  But you know how conventional the Academy is.  The Board of Governors would have a collective stroke if they found out, and probably can the both of us.  Ben for certain.  Me if they can find a way.  We’re taking it * ** _very_** * slowly for now.”

 

Jenny nodded and sipped her tea.  “So you’ve not gone public.  But that doesn’t mean you need to hide it from your family, dear.  We love you, and we’ll love your Ben because you love him. It’ll all come right, you’ll see.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Morning sunlight through the bedroom windows woke Ben.  He could hear movement downstairs and smelled breakfast cooking; Quinn must already be up.  He grabbed his robe from the back of the bathroom door, but thought better of it as voices floated up from the kitchen. 

 

“… not gone public,” came the dulcet tones of… Jenny Donovan?  Wait, wasn’t she supposed to be going shopping with Adele?  No way was Ben facing Quinn’s mother in nothing but a robe!  He drew on a pair of jeans and a polo shirt, running his fingers through his hair as he headed downstairs.  Best to meet the challenge head-on. 

 

Quinn was seated on one of the bar stools in the kitchen, nursing an oversized mug of tea.  Jenny was at the stove, and smiled a welcome as Ben paused in the doorway. “Ah, good morning, Ben. You’re just in time.  Breakfast won’t be a minute.  Pour yourself a cuppa, there’s a good lad.” 

 

Quinn gave him a fatalistic “ _what are you going to do_ ” shrug and sipped his tea.  Ben did as he was told.

 

“I was just telling Quinn that his oldest niece, Molly, is being married in late summer.  A fine lad, and he worships the ground she walks on, the poor sod.  She’s made him dance to her tune these many months, but has finally taken pity on him.”  Jenny smiled at her son, who cynically shook his head.  “Now, don’t you feel sorry for him, Quinn.  He’s lucky to have her, and that’s a fact.  * ** _And_** ,*” she added firmly, “you’ll both be coming over for the wedding, and no mistake. She wants her whole clan there to see her change her name, and you know she’s always been sweet on you, Quinn.  You’re her favorite uncle, after all.”

 

“I’m her * ** _only_** * uncle, after all,” Quinn mimicked, with an ironic grin.  “You can hardly blame her.”  He rose from the stool as his mother dished up food onto the plates.  “I’ll get it, Mum; go on in and sit down.”  He grabbed the large wooden tray from behind the sink and loaded it.  Ben stepped aside to allow Jenny to precede him into the dining room, then ducked behind Quinn to refill the kettle for more tea.  He was intrigued about the upcoming nuptials, and Jenny seemed inclined to enlighten them.

 

“Well, yes, there is that, I suppose,” she was saying as Ben entered the room.  “With her father gone, she’s after wanting you to give her away.”  She glanced at her son.  “You’ll not be letting her down.”  It wasn’t a question.

 

 

“Dinna I hae the right to look the young eejit over first?” Quinn said plaintively.  “I’m nae givin’ me bonny wee lass away to just anyone now.”  The brogue was back in full force, probably a reflex action to discussing his Irish relatives.  Or maybe it was just to irritate his mother.  She seemed to take no notice.

 

 

“You’ll have plenty of opportunity for that before the wedding, but trust me, everyone has already said grace over him and she’s in love, so you’ll not be dampening her happiness one jot, if you know what’s good for you.”  The Queen Mother had plainly spoken.  Quinn grinned and winked at Ben as he dug into his eggs. 

 

 

Jenny turned to Ben.  “Did you sleep well, Ben?  Or does this great oaf of mine still manage to take up every inch of any bedstead in which he lays himself?” 

 

Ben hurriedly took a sip of water to cover his shock at the bland reference to his sharing a bed with her son.  Quinn gave her a pained look.  “Tha’ was hardly any way to ease into a subject, Mum.  You’ll gie the poor lad a heart attack.  Are ye all right, Ben?  Are ye needin’ the Heimlich?  Or CPR?”

 

 

“I’m- I’m okay, thanks,” sputtered Ben, as he hurriedly wiped his mouth with his napkin.  The woman was full of surprises.  And Quinn apparently was her willing accomplice this morning. He glared at his lover, who gave him an innocent look over a forkful of eggs.

 

 

Jenny leaned back in her chair.  “Oh, I am sorry, Ben,” she giggled, “but the look on your face-” 

 

 

“Ye’re a devil, Mum,” chided Quinn affectionately.  “Was a mon ever so cursed wi’ sich a demon fer a mother?”

 

 

“You came by it naturally, my darling, you may be sure of that,” Jenny said, with a secret smile.  “Now, Ben,” she said, leaning toward him, “shall we try again?  Did you sleep well?”

 

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Ben answered, after another swallow of water.  “Yourself?”

 

 

“Oh, yes.  I love the Melbourne; it has the most comfortable beds, like sleeping on clouds.  I really must find out from where they order their mattresses.”  She turned back to her son.  “Now there’s a grand idea for a wedding present, Quinn; send them a nice bedstead.  And I’ll supply the linens.”

 

 

“Good idea,” Quinn agreed.  “What’s the silly bugger do for a livin’?  He’d best nae be expectin’ to live off Molly’s trust fund, or he’ll answer to me and no mistake.”  He scowled.

 

 

“He’s a barrister, and already making quite a name for himself.  She’s made a very good catch. So you’ll be keeping a civil tongue in your head and giving them your blessing, or you’ll hear from me.” She turned back to Ben.  “His name is Peadair Cillian Jameson, isn’t that lovely?  So she’ll be Maire CatrionaJameson.  He’s very handsome, too, pure black Irish.”  At Ben’s questioning look, she added, “Jet black hair and dark blue eyes.”

 

 

“Unlike myself, who’d be considered more * ** _red_** * Irish,” Quinn added, touching his own silvering chestnut hair.  “Molly’s a redhead, with green eyes like lanterns in the dark, especially when she’s on a tear.  They’ll be well matched.  Be he Catholic, Mum?”

 

 

“He is,” she affirmed. 

 

 

“Well, that’s a blessin’,” Quinn sighed.  “Mick’ll be marryin’ them, then?”

 

 

“Who else?” She explained to Ben that “ _Mick_ ” was Father Michael Kildare, a boyhood chum of Quinn’s who had entered the priesthood right out of school.  “They’re being married in Ballymena, and he’ll be looking for you.”

 

 

“I’ve nae exactly been goin’ regular to Mass, Mum,” Quinn said, looking uncomfortable. 

 

 

“Your decision,” Jenny sighed.  “You were brought up knowing what was expected of you, and to make your own choices in life.”  She smiled at Ben, who had been silently following the conversation.  “Are you Catholic, Ben?”

 

 

“No, ma’am.  I’m not much of anything specific,” Ben replied, with a slight blush. 

 

 

Jenny nodded.  “But you’ll be coming with Quinn to the wedding, no matter.  It’s a lovely old church, and Father Mick will be so pleased.  Molly wouldn’t feel married if Quinn wasn’t there, she’s that fond of him.”

 

 

Ben glanced at Quinn, uncertain quite how to respond.  Would Quinn want him to accompany him to a family gathering, in * ** _Northern_** **_Ireland?_** *  They weren’t “ _out,_ ” but Quinn’s mother was already treating their relationship as a matter of course. 

 

 

Quinn intercepted his look and gave a short nod; they’d discuss it later.  “So when’s the date? I’ve a symposium in July that I canna get out of; I’m giving a couple of lectures.”

 

 

“It’s not until August, so you’ll be fine.  But be sure to come over early; there’ll be all sorts of festivities, and everyone will want to see you.  The nuptial mass will be Saturday morning, and a big party afterward.  Now say you’ll call the lass and tell her you’ll walk her down the aisle, there’s my good son.”  She turned to Ben. “You’ll love Ballymena.  It’s not nearly as hot as here, and the scenery is lovely.  Quinn can show you all his childhood haunts.” 

 

 

“Thank you, Jenny.  I’ll talk to Quinn and we’ll get back to you, all right?” Ben said politely, hoping he was reading all the signals correctly.  He could only imagine if the roles were reversed, if someone in * ** _his_** * family was getting married and he showed up with Quinn as his “ _plus one.”_   His older brother, Owen, would probably drop dead on the spot, while his wife, Binna, would likely try to pair up both men with her omnipresent army of slightly desperate single female friends.

 

Jenny rose and began gathering the plates.  “I’ll just wash up these things, and then Adele is picking me up.  I can’t wait to see the new clothing lines.”  She bundled everything onto the serving tray and whisked it into the kitchen, leaving the two men at the table.

 

 

“Makes herself right at home, doesn’t she?” Quinn said fondly.  “Just let herself in with the spare key while we were still abed this morning.  She let the dog out, then just started right in fixing breakfast. She’s five hours ahead of us, so probably shouldn’t have been surprised.” 

 

 

“Are you okay with her inviting me to the wedding?” Ben asked uncertainly.  “I can beg off, if you’d rather-”

 

 

“Nonsense,” Quinn said firmly.  “I’d never live it down.  Besides, you’re going to have to meet them all eventually.”  He studied Ben’s face, then frowned.  “You * ** _do_** * want to come, don’t you?” he asked softly.

 

 

“It sounds amazing.  As long as you think your family won’t pitch a fit.  I mean, this is your niece getting married.  It’s special.  I don’t want anything to take away from that, like-”

 

 

“Like salty old Uncle Quinn showin’ up with a handsome lad on his arm, y’mean?” Quinn said, with an easy laugh.  “Ben, love, I’d be more worried about the lasses trying to wean you away from me!  You’ll be the talk of the town, I can promise you that.  And I’ll be proud to say you’re with me, so they can bloody well keep their sticky fingers off.”  He reached for Ben’s hand and raised it to his lips.  “Say you’ll come, there’s a good lad.”

 

 

Ben’s resistance melted.  “Are you sure you shouldn’t bring Adele?”  Hating himself for even suggesting it, for the engrained habit of needing to hide their affair from the rest of the world.

 

 

Quinn shook his head, with an understanding smile.  “Adele prefers the Continent.”  Then, eyes twinkling, he added, “Besides, Mum invited * ** _you,_** * remember, and as she’s the reigning matriarch of Clan Donovan, you’d best be showin’ up.”  Vivid blue eyes, so like those of the woman who bore him, gleamed, and Ben couldn’t help but laugh with him.

 

 

“Ach, ’tis a bonny sound I’m hearin’ and no mistake,” floated out from the kitchen, in an exaggerated mimicry of Quinn’s erratic brogue.  “Now which of my fine lads is going to come dry these dishes for me?”

 

 

“Mum, we have a dishwasher, you know,” Quinn called back.  “Even I can operate it with only a modicum of difficulty.” 

 

 

“Old habits die hard, my bold cock, so haul your arse in here.  Besides, I see you still keep my tea set up on that top shelf, and I’m not about to climb up on the counter to put it away.” 

 

 

Quinn rose.  “Duty calls.”  He shrugged philosophically and headed for the kitchen. 

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

Quinn pulled a towel from a drawer and began drying the dishes neatly stacked on the drain board.  “That was a verra nice thing you did just now, Mum,” he said softly.

 

 

“Breakfast?  It was nothing.” 

 

 

“* ** _Mum,_** *” Quinn sighed, and Jenny smiled up at him.

 

 

“Oh, you mean inviting Ben to the wedding?  He’s more than welcome, darling.”  She hummed as she rinsed a glass and handed it to him.

 

 

“But will the clan be as friendly?” Quinn asked guardedly.  “I’m thinking it’s going to come as quite a shock.”

 

 

“To some, perhaps,” she agreed.  “A few have wondered why you’ve never married and settled down with a family of your own.  But I decided years ago that Adele was probably never going to be my daughter-in-law, whatever the reason.  And she was the closest you’ve ever come to a steady girlfriend since you moved here.”

 

 

Quinn looked uncomfortable.  “Adele and I are very good friends, Mum, but just that.  We’ve never had any plans to marry.  Even before Ben came along.”

 

 

“I know, dear,” Jenny soothed.  “She’s a lovely lady, but if you hadn’t proposed by now, it wasn’t likely you were going to.”  She rinsed the last of the dishes and let the stopper out of the sink.  Drying her hands, she turned to face her firstborn.  “Quinn, how you live your life is entirely up to you, and your family will always stand by you, without question.  I’m hardly in any position to dispute where you give your heart.  Ben is delightful, and very nice looking, I might add. You love him, so we will love him, too.  Though there might be one or two broken hearts back home when they hear the news,” she teased, laughing as her son rolled his eyes and grimaced.  “Bring him to the wedding, darling.  Don’t hide him from your family and friends. Molly will be so disappointed if you don’t come.”

 

 

“I’ll come, of a surety, Mum, and Ben, too, as long as he’s comfortable wi’ comin’.  But I’ll nae throw him into a hornet’s nest if he’s nae ready to go public. We’ve had to walk on eggshells around here for fear of the Board of Governors going ballistic on us, the tight-arsed bastards.”

 

 

“Language, Quinn,” his mother reproved. “Your father, God rest his soul, and I brought you up better than that. And we raised all of you to stand up for yourselves, and not to back off once you’ve taken a stand.  The Academy is one thing, and as you both work there, it’s probably best to take things gently for a while, but you must never be ashamed to introduce the one you love to your family and friends.  Have you met his people yet?”

 

 

“No, but it’s probably going to have to be sooner rather than later,” Quinn said pensively. “His parents live on the other side of town, and I think there’s an older brother somewhere.  He doesn’t talk about them much.  He’s a very private person, and I’ve not pushed.”  He shrugged. “I’ve not even seen his apartment, can you imagine?”

 

“Well, maybe this will be a good excuse to meet them.”  She wiped off the stove and countertops.  “Come over early, take him around to all the touristy places and let him get his feet under him before the wedding.  You’ve not been back for a good long stay in years.  We miss you, darling.  Bring your Ben and come home.”  She tiptoed to kiss his cheek and they hugged tightly. 

 

 

Ben slipped quietly out of the dining room, not wanting to disturb the private moment.  He had a lot of thinking to do.

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

Ben tactfully stayed upstairs until Jenny left with Adele to go shopping, wanting to give Quinn and his mother as much time alone as possible.  They clearly adored each other, and Ben was warmed at her easy acceptance of him in her son’s life.  So very different from being made to feel as if they were somehow committing a heinous crime, should the Academy find out they were having an affair. 

 

 

Ireland sounded magical.  He could hardly wait to grab his laptop and do some research.  And now he’d been invited to accompany Quinn to his childhood home, to meet “ _Clan Donovan,_ ” as Quinn’s acknowledged lover.  Part of him would like nothing better than to “ _cross the pond_ ,” to see Quinn’s native land through his eyes.  Somehow, though, he had a hard time imagining Quinn’s relatives welcoming him quite as graciously, though it didn’t hurt to have Jenny in their corner. 

 

 

Quinn * ** _had_** * to be there; he’d been conscripted to give the bride away and was already anticipating giving the future nephew-in-law a good grilling ahead of time.  This might be his only opportunity to stand in as the “ _father of the bride,_ ” and it sounded as if Molly was near and dear to his heart. 

 

 

Had Quinn’s hesitation been for his benefit, or was Quinn himself not ready to “ _come out_ ” to his family?  After all, he’d be admitting to not only sleeping with another man, but a non-Catholic to boot.  Ben knew Quinn was largely non-practicing, and Jenny didn’t seem to think it was a big deal, but what about “ _Father Mick,_ ” Quinn’s boyhood playmate-turned-priest?  He’d be performing the ceremony, in Quinn’s hometown, in his family’s church.  It could get ugly if mishandled.  Ben felt his hands sweat at the thought of Quinn having to choose between him and his loved ones. Maybe it’d be best if he recused himself after all…

 

 

“Ben?  Are you up there?” 

 

 

“Yeah,” he called back.  “Be down in a minute.”

 

 

“Come into the garden.  It’s nice out. Let’s sit in the sun for a bit.”  The voice floated up the stairs, as Quinn suited actions to words and headed for the walled-in backyard.  Ben could hear Bernini’s toenails on the hardwood floors as he followed his master.  Taking a deep breath to calm his roiling stomach, he headed downstairs.

 

 

Quinn was seated at the wrought iron table under the big maple tree.  To Ben’s surprise, the older man had brought out his new laptop, and had even managed to turn it on unassisted.  He looked inordinately pleased with himself, and Ben applauded as he sat down.

 

 

“What’s the occasion?” he asked.

 

 

Quinn carefully rotated the screen.  “I thought maybe you’d like to see some of my Erin,” he said.  “She’s a bonny land, and some of the finest people you’ll chance to meet anywhere.” 

 

 

The computer was running a slideshow of gorgeous countrysides dotted with stone fencing and thatched cottages, interspersed with lively cityscapes and actual castles.  Dazzling smiles on every face, and several raised glasses of a dark liquid as if to invite him to come join them. Lambs and calves and children cavorted in fields too impossibly green to be real.  The Emerald Isle, indeed. Quinn explained that the climate was fairly temperate year round, and the extensive rainfall each year kept everything verdant and lush.  There were, in fact, more than forty shades of green throughout the country, of which its natives were justifiably proud.  Quinn’s eyes shone with love for his homeland, and Ben couldn’t help but get caught up in his enthusiasm. 

 

 

From Jenny’s photo album, Quinn identified his sisters’ family groups in turn, with little anecdotes about each that had Ben chuckling almost non-stop.  Molly was a beauty:  auburn hair and laughing green eyes, with a willowy grace that reminded Ben of her grandmother.  Quinn gently touched the picture.  “Kept the boys hopping from the time she was old enough to walk.  Her dad passed away when she was about sixteen.  What a wake we had for him, went on for three full days.” 

 

 

“And her mother’s never remarried?” Ben asked, studying the pictures, trying to memorize every face and name.

 

 

“No, like Mum, she had her one great love and it’ll last her a lifetime, I expect.  Reyna and Sean were childhood sweethearts.  I dinna think either of them ever dated anyone else.  He was a fine lad, and I was proud to call him me brother-in-law.”

 

 

“How many sibs does Molly have?”

 

 

Quinn thought for a moment.  “Five.  Turned them out nearly every year there for a while.”  He gave a wry chuckle.  “Maybe that’s what done poor old Sean in.  Aie me, what a way to go.” 

 

 

“Yeah, well, don’t you be gettin’ any bright ideas about wearin’ yourself out anytime soon, boyo,” Ben quipped, in a weak attempt at a brogue.  “I plan to keep you around for a long time yet.”

 

 

Quinn let loose a hearty laugh.  “Ah, never fear on that count, love.  Ye’re keepin’ me young, and I’ve never felt better in me life, ‘tis a fact.”  He leaned over and captured Ben’s lips in a deep kiss that left them both more than a little breathless.  “Does that feel like I’m ready to turn up me heels in the grass?”  The blue eyes danced.

 

 

“Hell, no!” Ben answered, with a laugh of his own.  “Keep that up and I’ll be dragging your ass back to bed for the rest of the day!” 

 

 

“Sounds like a grand idea,” Quinn agreed.  He closed the laptop and stood.  “Shall we?”

 

_~end~_


End file.
